


Forgive Me Father (For She Is Sin)

by PerfectPurgatory



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: But so does Demon Rey, F/M, Priest Ren has some issues he's not worked out with his Father, Priest!Kylo, demon!rey, lots of movie parallels, mirroring the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 18:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11087580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectPurgatory/pseuds/PerfectPurgatory
Summary: He feels a tingling in the back of his neck when he sees her. She’s just standing there, on the street corner. He’s never seen her before, and yet he feels like he knows her. But this is a small town, and he knows everyone. She must be new, or visiting. Abandoning the nagging sense that he swears he’s seen her before, he thinks about walking over and introducing himself, maybe inviting her to Sunday Mass, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just stands there and stares. She was beautiful. The way her hair falls over her shoulders and the way her sun-kissed skin glows. It is unlike anything- No. It’s improper for a priest to have such thoughts. He’ll do a few more Hail Marys tonight.





	Forgive Me Father (For She Is Sin)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm a new writer, and all comments are appreciated. This one's been sitting at the back of my head for a while now, but I hadn't the courage to write it until now. I hope you all enjoy it! I know I had fun writing it. Sorry for all the cheesy movie inserts, but I had to do it. Also, I did choose to go with Catholic Kylo, and, seeing as how I wasn't raised Catholic, I might have gotten a few things wrong. If any of you catches something that's off, please let me know.

Walking to the back of the church, he adjusts his collar, ready to start his day. He mentally went down his to-do list as he makes it outside. First, he must visit Loren Tekka, the eldest in the church and the most ill. He was recently diagnosed with lung cancer and it should take him to see the Lord any day now. He has no family left, and he was a great friend of his mother, so he feels even more obligated to go be with him. Secondly, he must attend to the church’s canned foods drive, making sure everything is for this coming holiday season. Thirdly, he must visit the children in the daycare the church runs. Fourthly, he must listen to confessio- who is that?

 

He feels a tingling in the back of his neck when he sees her. She’s just standing there, on the street corner. He’s never seen her before, and yet he feels like he knows her. But this is a small town, and he knows everyone. She must be new, or visiting. Abandoning the nagging sense that he swears he’s seen her before, he thinks about walking over and introducing himself, maybe inviting her to Sunday Mass, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just stands there and stares. She was beautiful. The way her hair falls over her shoulders and the way her sun-kissed skin glows. It is unlike anything- No. It’s improper for a priest to have such thoughts. He’ll do a few more Hail Marys tonight.

 

He gets that tingling in the back of his neck again. What it is, he doesn’t know. Again, he tries to place where he could possibly know her from. He uses his hand to rub the back of his neck and he looks at the ground. When he looks up, the girl is staring straight at him. Accompanying the tingling, a chill runs down his spine. His blood runs cold and he can’t think of what to do, or say. He only stands there, mouth slightly open, staring back at her. She smiles, slightly, and it’s a kind smile. But there’s something unnerving about it. Something he can’t quite pinpoint. He glances down the street and then back to her. Only, it’s not her he’s looking at anymore. She’s not there. He walks to the corner and looks down every street, but he doesn’t see any trace of the mysterious girl. He reckons that a car must have come and picked her up. Yes, that was the only explanation. But it didn’t sit right with him.

 

It was time for him to go see Loren Tekka, anyway. No point in dwelling on her. He cheerfully walks to his car, humming as he goes along.

 

 

Loren Tekka has passed away. Priest Ren gets out of his car with a heavy heart. He was there as it happened. There was nothing that could be done.

 

He turns towards the church, taking a good look at it. It’s nothing fancy, but it serves its purpose well. He thinks it’s a beautiful building, though others would disagree. He realizes there remains a lot of work to be done on it – the roof needs re-shingling, the ancient brick need to be power-washed, and the stained glass needs to be cleaned – but he thinks it’s beautiful.

 

That is, until he looks down and sees graffiti on the side of it. Darn those neighborhood kids, always up to no good. They squirm in their seats during Mass and they refused to listen to his teachings. Someday, they would learn. But right now, it seems they have resorted to common street art. Walking up to it, he reads “The Finalizer”. Must be some new street name they came up with. He’ll have to find someone to scrub that off some other time. Right now, he must attend to the can drive.

 

Walking through the modest rows of canned goods, he smiles. This is their largest collection yet, and the season is just beginning! Think about how many stacks they could have to give to the hungry and the needy. How it would fill their Heavenly Father with joy to see His church doing such great deeds!

 

That’s when he sees her, standing in the doorway. The girl from earlier. She’s leaning up against the post with her arms crossed, just staring, biting her nails in the process. Her stare pierces through to his soul, and he can feel the intensity from where he stands. This time, there is no tingle in the back of his neck. Instead, his face starts going hot. Is he blushing? He can’t be. But he is. What is it about her beauty, her otherworldliness, her presence- no. He chastises himself and immediately turns around and walks the other way, towards the opposite door.

 

He steps outside, into the cool autumn air, and recollects his thoughts. He must not dwell on her. She is not his responsibility. But, he thinks, it is his responsibility to bring those who stray back into the fold. The way she looked at him, he got a sense that she was a stray. A stray who needs his teachings. He could sense some potential in her, and he can harness that potential to teach her the ways of faith. He starts walking again. Maybe a walk would help him clear his mind.

 

He rounds the corner of the church and immediately stops. She’s sitting there, on the steps of the church, sprawled out for all to see. It’s now that he really takes stock of what she’s wearing. She’s at least a decade younger than him and in a shirt that barely covers her abdomen. She’s wearing a pair of ripped up denim with boots and she has some decorative jewelry: earrings, as far as he can tell, and some tight bracelets. She was beautiful. If he had ever seen someone so ethereal in his life, he couldn’t remember it- why did he keep doing this? All her clothing was black, and, as he notices this, her head jerks to the side to stare at him once again. Then she shows her teeth in that terrible, incredible smile of hers. Again, it looks kind, and, again, it looks somehow menacing. It is almost as if she knew his deepest secrets and were laughing at his pain.

 

The movement of her head is so sudden and quick that it startles him, and he jumps backwards. Immediately, he turns around and makes his way into the rectory. After 10 minutes, he walks back out and slowly goes around the corner. She’s nowhere to be found. Praise be to the Father.

 

No other reoccurrence happens for the rest of the day. Not during his trip to the day care, not during confessions, and not during his afternoon marriage counselling session.

 

As he sits on his bed, before he did his Hail Marys, he allows himself to think about her. Why was she here, in town? And how could she get from one side of a building to the other so fast without looking winded? Why was she following him? What was it about him that drew her? A more important question is what it is about _her_ that draws _him_. He had an answer to the later. Whenever he had dreamed of angels, he had dreamed of someone with the mysterious girl’s skin, with her hair, with her eyes, with her lips. In his dreams, his angel was beautiful. Sometimes those dreams would end in ruin, the angel turning into a fowl demon. But most of the time, the dream was just that. An angel holding his hands and smiling. But the mysterious girl was no angel. The more he thought about it, the less human she felt to him. She was otherworldly, and he couldn’t place it, but he felt that whatever she was, sign from the Father or no, he was going to withstand the trial of her visage.

 

He did his Hail Marys and went to sleep. Not for the first time, he dreamt about his angel. It was the spitting image of the girl. She had the same oak-colored hair, the same brown eyes, and the same golden skin. He slept soundly with the image swirling in his brain. But it doesn’t last long. The angel’s face remains the same, but in the place of her nails grow claws, and horns begin to grow from the top of her head. And then, she smiles. That same enchanting and haunting smile. The visage terrifies him, but in his dream, he is entranced, unable to feel the fear building within him. Instead, he just starts moving towards her. She grabs hold of his hands and helps to pull him in. Her eyes are the purest shade of brown he has ever seen, and he can swear he sees what heaven must look like in them. Now inches from her face, he leans in closer, and closer still. Right before their lips meet, the trance is gone, and he jerks backwards, yanking his hands from hers. She pouts, looking wounded. Then, she smiles again. This time, it was with a set of pointed teeth designed to rip flesh from bone. He could only scream as she flew forward and that’s how he wakes up. Yelling and bolting upright. He grabs his rosary off his nightstand and gets out of bed as quickly as he can.

 

He nearly runs to the sanctuary, not bothering to change out of his night clothes. The sanctuary at night is serene and beautiful. The light coming from the moon streaming through the small window of stained glass perfectly illuminates the altar. If it were just a midnight walk instead of an agitated attempt to atone for his apparent sins, he might have reveled in the slight majesty of his sacristy. Instead of giving into his materialistic feelings, however, he gets down on his knees in front of the altar and feverishly prays.

 

“Forgive me.” His hands are clashed together so tightly, his knuckles are turning white. “I have committed a terrible sin in the name of you, Father. I have allowed a demon to invade my mind, and I have humored this demon by allowing its presence.” His eyes are so tightly shut, it is a wonder if he will ever open them again. “You know, Father, that I have been guilty of this in the past. That I have allowed this demon, this foul creature, to attack my thoughts and redirect my emotions. Forgive me, I pray, and give me strength to vanquish this apparition, so that I may better serve you and continue your work. Amen.”

 

He sits there for a while longer, sending up praises and prayers to the saints and to the Madonna. As soon as he feels secure again, in himself and in his faith, he gets up to walk back to his room. There’s a thin layer of sweat on his brow, but it’s nothing a little water couldn’t fix. He stops by the bathroom to wash his face. As he splashes the cold water on his face, he gets a feeling in the base of his neck. A tiny little sting. Thinking it must have been a bug, he dismisses it and heads back to his room.

 

Laying down back into his bed, he puts the covers over himself and tries to get comfortable, not sure if it’s even worth it at this point. He might not be able to go back to sleep at all. But, he does it anyway, and, once settled, he turns the light off and closes his eyes. All is right and well in the world now that he has confessed and asked for forgiveness. Surely, his Heavenly Father will forgive him his transgressions.

 

“It’s really cute the way you call me ‘demon’ to your Daddy, Ren.” Immediately, the lights were on and he was ready to scream. There, in the corner of his room, leaning up against his desk was the apparition he was talking about. The girl that haunted him all day. Suddenly, Ren wished he had his sacramental clothing on so he wouldn’t feel so naked. Without it, he felt vulnerable and weak. Grabbing the rosary once again, he holds it in her direction.

 

“Go away, you foul beast! I know not what you want with me, but I want no part in it.” He tries to keep his voice steady and sound intimidating while also holding his covers to his chin. It doesn’t seem to work.

 

“You want me to leave?” She seems amused, as if she isn’t quite expecting that reaction.

 

“Yes. That’s generally what happens when you’re being haunted by a creature such as yourself.” Seemingly befuddled, Ren just holds his rosary higher.

 

The apparition walks along the wall opposite his bed, running her hand over every piece of furniture until she gets to the cross hanging on the wall. She reaches up to touch it and it instantly falls.

 

“You know I can do whatever I want, right?” She smiles at him. Again, her teeth barred and her slight dimples showing, she looks beautiful and menacing, like she could eat him in one bite and look graceful while doing it.

 

Ren doesn’t know what to say. She’s seemingly unaffected by the rosary and she just made his cross fall off the wall, so what is it he can really do? She eyes him from across the room, then slowly makes her way over to him. He flinches as she sits on the edge of his bed.

 

“Don’t be afraid. I feel it too.” Somehow the words are comforting and he begins to lower the rosary. She reaches her hand to his face and, on reflex, he raises the rosary again, remembering the situation he’s in. She backs her hand away, then slowly reaches for him again. As soon as her hand contacts his skin, his life flashes before his eyes. He can see his father, leaving for the fifth time that year with no promise of returning. He can see his mother, fighting with him the day after he comes back. He sees his Uncle holding him as a baby, and he sees his father look at him like he’s this unpredictable thing that must be dealt with. And he can feel. Feel his own disappointment, his own anger towards his Uncle for not telling him about religion, when he was supposed to be his teacher and mentor.

 

“I know you, Ren. I see it all. I see your loneliness, I see your anger, I see your hate.” Her voice is filled with admiration, and something he can’t quite place. “And your Father. You think he’s your salvation. I can promise he will disappoint you.”

 

Suddenly, he’s had enough. He reaches for her hand to yank it off, but immediately after contact, he sees different kinds of visions.

 

He sees a little girl, being dropped off at an orphanage, a large, nasty looking man holding her back as she screams towards the carriage that rides off into the distance. He sees a girl, older, in a run-down part of, what, 18th century London? The girl is scavenging for coins. The more coins she brings back to her orphanage, the more food she gets. Ren sees her steal from people’s pockets and he sees her eat from the trash when she has a day without success. He sees the way she’s treated by the other kids, how they say she’s too rich to be like them. He can feel her confusion, her own anger, her own hate. He can feel every emotion she’s ever felt and it’s overwhelming. He doesn’t know what to make of any of this and – she rips her hand away from his grip. Her lips are quivering and she stands back, staring wide-eyed at him.

 

She vanishes with a blink of an eye. No explanation, no other words given. She’s just gone. Ren lets out the breath he had been holding and sinks back into his pillows. His hands are shaking and he’s breathing heavily. As his chest rises and falls, he thinks over what just happened. She had seen his life and then he had seen hers. What did it mean? He found himself utterly exhausted. He would have time to repent in the morning. Right now, all he wanted was sleep and to not think about how the girl had said “don’t be afraid.” She had sounded sincere and he wondered if it meant anything. Sinking back further, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments are encouraged and appreciated, as well as critique. As a new writer, I hope to learn more and more so as to serve you all better in my stories! I'm thinking about doing a follow-up to this, possibly doing a mini-series, but I'm not sure yet. What do you guys think?


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